


this castle we've built

by finalizer (orphan_account)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, post-TRK but pre-CDTH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-30 17:34:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: Around Adam, Ronan could finally breathe.





	this castle we've built

The moment Henry got a text from Ronan Lynch, he let out an undignified squawk.

The contents of said message were limited to an uncapitalized _‘wheres dick’_, entirely foregoing the question mark or any form of socially acceptable punctuation.

The issue was, that Gansey had failed to answer three calls from Adam, and Adam had gotten anxious, which resulted in Ronan getting anxious and contacting the culprit himself.

Gansey had not answered.

Ronan had tried Blue next, but stopped himself midway, remembering that Blue did not own a cellphone. He wasn’t about to call the psychic hotline, no matter the circumstances. So, he’d targeted Henry instead.

In the end, it turned out Gansey was doing just peachy, most certainly _not_ dead in a ditch, and that his battery had simply run out. He’d neglected to plug in his phone, instead letting it die beneath oodles of loose-leaf papers and ratty books in the confines of his bag. Out of sight, out of mind.

But the highlight of the story, as decided upon by everyone in the hours following the incident, was that Ronan had actually touched his phone — willingly, without the looming threat of violent bodily harm, or something of that ilk.

In hindsight, the whole thing was clearly Adam’s doing.

For weeks now, he'd insisted that Ronan text him at regular intervals, multiple times a day. It didn’t matter that they saw each other every morning and every night, sometimes even in the afternoons on the off chance Adam’s schedule cleared.

When Adam was at school, he’d text Ronan in between classes and expect a swift reply. When he relayed a funny workplace anecdote, he impatiently waited for Ronan’s impending string of laughing-crying emojis.

It had something to do with forcibly pulling Ronan into the twenty-first century, and everything to do with being unable to go so many hours without hearing his voice or reading his words. Or his unintelligible emojis, Adam wasn’t too picky.

He called Ronan during his lunch break.

The line connected and a feral howl sounded distantly on Ronan’s end, followed by a distraught explanation.

“Opal doesn’t fucking like brussel sprouts.”

The tension swam out of Adam’s posture. Scratch that, he _was_ picky — nothing compared to the rush of hearing Ronan cursing fondly into his ear. Not even the poop emojis he sometimes sent to signalize it was manure-scooping day at the Barns. Or, at least, that was how Adam had interpreted the cryptic messages.

“Tell her you’ll let her watch the Fast and Furious movies if she eats her greens.”

“Fuck, no. She’s a kid.”

Adam took a moment to think. “Okay, then I don’t know. I’m out of ideas.”

It didn’t have to be anything important, anything of consequence, when they talked. Both of them only wanted — _needed_ — to know that the other was okay.

When Ronan stepped out for a lengthy drive in the middle of the night, restless and moody, as Adam drowned in mountains of textbooks in the throes of exam preparations, he sent Adam regular updates. They were single words or throwaway sentences, just to let him know that he hadn’t wrapped his car around a lamppost in the heat of the moment.

When Adam disappeared off for a college interview, one of many more to come, and Ronan had to stay behind with a snotty, feverish Opal, he called Ronan as often as he possibly could to remind him that he was coming back. That he was always going to come back. That he loved him.

It was like the pull of a magnet, always tugging them back towards each other, a rubber band that could only stretch so far before it bounced back, never relenting, never letting go.

/

“You’re a terrible influence,” Gansey said later, once it was all over and the BMW was idling in front of Monmouth. 

The events of forty-three minutes prior were as follows:

Ronan finally managed to drag Gansey and Blue out for a drive_, _after months of unsuccessfully trying to lure them into the back of his car. They were hesitant, because they knew what an evening drive with Ronan entailed. At least Adam was in the passenger’s seat. Adam was reasonable.

Gansey squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the fabric of his trousers before Ronan even had a chance to turn the key in the ignition.

And once Ronan finally pulled the car to a stop, following twenty-something minutes of whirls and twirls and nauseating drifting, Blue’s teeth were clenched and she was using all of her willpower to stop herself from kicking out at the back of Ronan’s seat, or at the very least spitting every single explosive expletive she could think of.

And then Ronan and Adam threw their respective doors open and disappeared into the night. They walked around the car, switching spots, in a move so synchronized it had to have been planned in advance.

Adam’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel and Blue let out a relieved sigh, now that they had a responsible driver in charge of taking them back home.

Then, Ronan smiled, sharp and victorious.

Adam floored the gas, and Gansey screamed. He would later deny making any such sounds.

The nightmare blessedly ended with Adam spinning the wheel with reckless abandon and drifting to a screeching halt in the front lot of the warehouse.

Gansey’s nails were squeezing white crescents into the palm of Blue’s hand as he held on for dear life, and Blue gave in to her primal urges and gave the back of the driver’s seat a vicious kick.

“Hey, respect the leather,” Ronan snapped at her.

There was no heat to it, though. His jaw was tight in a way that implied he wasn't interested in Blue’s mistreatment of the upholstery at all. He was looking at Adam.

Gansey grasped at the opportunity to free himself from the confines of his seatbelt, and stumbled out of the car. Blue followed suit in a somewhat more composed fashion.

They did not thank their dear friends for an evening well spent, because nearly dying in a flurry of dust and burning rubber had not been, in their eyes, an evening well spent.

The back doors slammed shut and the car fell quiet.

Adam waved at the two departing figures before turning to meet Ronan’s gaze. It was scorching.

He made to vacate the driver’s seat, to let Ronan take them back to the Barns, but Ronan stalled him with a hand on his knee. The air around him was crackling with electricity, that barely restrained hunger that always spilled through when Adam changed gears and shot down desolate streets to the tune of the wind howling through the open windows.

It felt like freedom, like pure adrenaline in his veins.

With every mile over the speed limit, whatever it was that held Adam together unravelled and he _let go_, with a grin on his lips and the wind in his hair. It was like seeing a flower bloom, the petals unfolding into something beautiful, miraculous, and Ronan could never tear his eyes away.

“You drive,” he said, and the words sounded like a promise.

/

Ronan yearned for a quiet night, one where he wouldn't be yanked violently back into consciousness, gasping for breath, grasping the sheets.

He hardly ever brought anything back anymore, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding every night as the sun began to set in the sky. A cruel, cold numbness seeped into the space in his head that Cabeswater used to fill. His dreams were twisted now, jagged and warped like something was missing.

He didn't want to sleep.

He knew his body would shut down without his permission sooner or later, but he was hell bent on doing his damn best to avoid closing his eyes for as long as he physically could.

Adam was motionless beside him, breathing smoothly, evenly, like a life raft amidst a stormy sea.

The yellow light from the lamp at Ronan’s bedside illuminated sandy hair, freckled skin, the line of Adam’s shoulders.

Ronan set his book down. He’d been staring blankly at the pages anyway, seeing more so than reading the words. He dropped it to the floor, bending and reaching down as far as he could before releasing it to avoid making too much noise. He switched the light off and sank back into the sheets.

He wouldn't sleep. He would watch the moonlight paint shadows across Adam’s still form. He would not sleep.

Ronan awoke with a ragged whine. He was sitting up, sheets tousled at his feet, before his body even registered the movement. His lungs screamed for air that he couldn't draw; he couldn't see, couldn't hear anything, there was nothing but the white noise, sharp and piercing in his skull.

Adam’s hands were on him in an instant.

Ronan forced himself to snap back into awareness just enough to make sure his palms were empty, that he wasn't a threat.

“I’m here,” said Adam. “You’re awake.”

There was a hand on Ronan’s back, warm and grounding. Adam took one of Ronan’s hands in his and squeezed.

“It’s okay. You didn't bring anything back.”

Ronan sucked in a desperate sliver of air, barely enough to quell the ache in his chest. He turned to Adam, the tilt of his head barely perceptible in the dim light pouring in from the outside. It was early morning, the sky a dirty, pale blue.

His eyes met Adam’s. There was no fear in them, no pity or sorrowful concern; in its place Ronan saw steadiness, a much needed anchor.

He never wanted to talk about the dreams afterwards, about the things that kept him from closing his eyes. He didn't think he was ready just yet. His mind poisoned him with flashes he wished he could forget, but that he knew he would carry with him forever — the past, after all, could not be undone.

Adam fell back against his pillow. He gave Ronan’s hand a soft tug, and Ronan followed.

They'd gotten used to this routine of silence, of comfort provided through touch rather than words.

He laid his head on Adam’s chest, over his heart. The steady beating reminded him that he was awake, and that he wasn't alone.

/ 

The first time they held hands in front of their friends, Gansey’s bottom lip had quivered. Blue had eyed Ronan warily. Henry had beat his personal record in Candy Crush.

The first time they’d kissed in front of witnesses, a soft press of lips beside Adam’s piece of shit car before he returned to St. Agnes’ for the night, Gansey had looked away to stop himself from blubbering. Blue had looked slightly less wary, only mildly concerned. Possibly intrigued. It was difficult to tell with her. Henry, at last, realized that two of his friends weren't exactly _friends_. It had taken him a little longer than expected to connect the dots.

It was easy to sink into a rhythm. There were lingering touches as objects were passed from one pair of hands to the other. Gazes were held across rooms, across grassy fields in the blinding sun, across the school corridor, when Ronan had graced Aglionby with his presence one last time to clear out his locker. Tender kisses were pressed to eager lips, to wrists, to fingertips, to the dip of pale skin where collarbones peeked out from beneath soft, cotton shirts. Hands were held beneath diner tables, across the gear shifts of cars, amidst rumpled sheets as the sweat cooled on bare skin.

They sat side by side as they gathered with Gansey and the remaining members of his posse at Monmouth, all of them talking, laughing, drinking. They were seated in a circle on the hard floor, around a collection of bottles, both empty and unopened, chuckling at the latest edition of boys’ school yearbook. The last one there would ever be. Things were changing.

Ronan’s shoulder was pressed flush against Adam’s. The warmth radiating from him was a comfort, hot and addictive, like a drug Ronan knew he would never be able to quit. Around Adam, Ronan could finally breathe.

Blue let out a hoot of raucous laughter at the sight of Henry’s senior portrait. Ronan jerked his gaze away from Adam’s fingers, wrapped loosely around the neck of his bottle, to see what all the fuss was about.

He made an offhanded comment and everyone broke into fits of giggles. Chainsaw squawked indignantly, irritated by the loud noise. She pecked at Adam’s jeans like that would solve all her problems.

The familiarity of it all was a warm embrace. It settled into the pit of Ronan’s stomach like the burn of good liquor and he let a shadow of a genuine smile slip onto his face.

Adam picked up on the shift, as though his Ronan-radar had been set off, blaring sirens and flashing red lights bouncing around inside his head. He set his bottle down and intertwined his fingers with Ronan’s. They were cold and wet from the condensation, and Ronan felt so dizzy with the love he felt for Adam that he feared he would black out right then and there.

Gansey sniffled. Blue’s wariness was almost completely gone. Henry took a picture, and Adam barely succeeded in preventing Ronan’s attempt at hurling the evidence, phone and all, through the window and onto the parking lot below.

/

Mornings at the Barns were everything Adam expected they would be.

The sun rose early, painting the sprawling fields and mismatched rooftops in strokes of light. Everything came to life: birds were singing, the animals rising slowly from their slumber, the wind rustling the crisp curtains hung over the kitchen windows.

And Opal was screaming.

She screamed for what felt like hours, until Ronan located the hat she had misplaced the previous night. (It had been tucked underneath a loose floorboard in the attic. Adam decided not to press for details.)

And then she screamed a little bit more, demanding she be allowed to add grass to the omelet being cooked for breakfast. She’d gone out extra early in her oversized galoshes, frolicking to the ends of the property to collect a basketful of her favorite greens.

This time, Ronan’s resolve did not crumble. He stuck to his firm statement that grass did not fit the strict rules and regulations of human dietary requirements.

Opal fumed and looked to Adam for help.

Adam looked at Ronan.

Ronan took a sip of his orange juice.

He said, “Fine, if you want foliage in your food, grab the basil plant off of the windowsill and — no, not that one. The big one. No, that one’s mint. Yes, that one. And grab like, ten leaves. No more, or it’ll taste like shit.”

Satisfied, Opal plucked as many as she was told and not a single leaf more, and hopped over to where Ronan was waiting. When she reached up to rinse them in the sink, Ronan held her up, and rolled her sleeves up so that they wouldn't get wet.

Adam felt like he was on fire. He wanted to pin Ronan against the counter and kiss him until they were both gasping for breath.

“Adam.”

The voice was crisp and decidedly amused. Adam startled.

“Huh?”

“I said, could you pass the pepper grinder?”

Most days followed that pattern. It was something that felt so much like _home_, something Adam was loathe to admit he hadn't known until now.

Other mornings, they woke in Adam’s sparse room above the church, legs tangled and hair mussed. They went their separate ways. Evening fell, and they came together again, sprawled over the sheets, Adam’s hair in Ronan’s hands, Ronan’s name on Adam’s lips.

It had the potential to be desperate, in the way that goodbyes could be. After all, Adam was going away to Harvard. Ronan was staying at the Barns.

Everything was falling out of place.

But there was no rush, no need to memorize the dusting of freckles on Adam’s back, or the way his fingers curled and uncurled against his sides whenever he got to the good part of whatever book he was reading.

Because Adam was coming back. As often as he would be able to, he would come back. And if life got in the way of that, Ronan would go to him. The distance wasn't anything daunting; they’d survived worse together. A few hundred miles was nothing.

It would take more than a few hours’ drive for Adam to forget Ronan’s laugh — his real laugh, the kind he reserved only for him. And Ronan knew he would always remember the way Opal once took Adam’s hands in hers and led him in an erratic dance around the living room, as rain battered the windows and lightning flashed across the sky outside. The way it’d tugged at his heart was etched into his mind forever. There was no need to frantically commit to memory the things they would be coming back to.

Adam’s going away was not an obstacle they had to overcome. It was a stepping stone towards the future.

Ronan watched Adam blink awake.

He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the bridge of his nose, to his eyelids, met his lips.

It was a future that was waiting for them, the two of them together, with open arms.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/finaIizer) & [tumblr](http://esmesqualor.tumblr.com)


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